


Take My Hand In This Dance With the Devil

by TillTheEndOfTheLine44



Series: Dance With the Devil [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Brainwashing, F/M, Memory Loss, Natasha Needs a Hug, Post-Winter Soldier #14, Red Room, SHEILD, Soviet Union, and bucky wants revenge, bucky barnes winter soldier, forbidden soviet love, natasha may be pregnant, slight AU, so does bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillTheEndOfTheLine44/pseuds/TillTheEndOfTheLine44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Natasha is brainwashed by Leo Novokov, she has a slow road to recovery, but Bucky is by her side, every step of the way.  Six months later, with her memories restored, SHEILD is faced with a betrayal and escape from one they once called their own.  One they were certain had died.  As Bucky hunts down his enemy, his mind stuck on revenge, Natasha is having a crisis of her own.  Faced with impossibility, the two must make choices that will impact the rest of their lives and the lives of those around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Hand In This Dance With the Devil

**Six Months Earlier**

**SHIELD HQ**        

They took her goddamn memories.  The very thing that made her who she was—scars and all.  The very fabric of her sanity.  Sure, some memories returned.  No amount of brainwashing could completely rid a person of their ghosts.  The universe would not stand for it.  Memories returned and she had cause to remember.  The red in her ledger came first, naturally, followed slowly by her return to grace and her time with the Avengers.

But she had no memory of him.  Of their time spent saving each other, their stories across the years, interwoven in their very souls.  The memories of sacred and forbidden love in a country that cherished hardened hearts and the harsh bitterness of winter.  And she couldn’t remember any of it.  According to SHIELD doctors, there was a good shot that she’d never remember.  She’d never remember forgetting and she’d never glimpse even a fragment of what they’d had.  How he would have died for her a thousand times over and how he’s protect her with his dying breath.

Except for the one time he didn’t.  The one time he underestimated his enemy and the depth of his hatred.  The one time he let her out of his sight and the one time he failed her.  And it’d cost him his entire world and his sanity.  She’d been taken and reprogrammed, her mind twisted and her strong will broken.  And he’d fallen for every damn trap, desperate to get her back.  It cost him everything.  And yes, she began to remember.  Everything and everyone but him.  What kind of monster—

No.  He knew exactly what kind of monster.  The kind he created—Frankenstein’s monster back from the dead to torment its creator.  And his enemy, after enough time living death, knew that there were worse ways to torture a man.  Worse than any form of death.

Bucky’s left fist made contact with the punching bag and sent it flying across the room.  He sighed, sweat dripping down his face.  That was the third punching bag he’d taken out in the past hour.  And repeatedly hitting things was certainly not helping.  He wiped his forehead, scowling as he picked up another punching bag.  He wanted to be out on a mission.  Doing something to get his mind off Natasha and the events of the past few days.  But Fury had classified him as a loose cannon, deciding it would be best to keep the Winter Soldier where SHIELD could monitor him, in case he chose to embark on another rogue mission.  Seeing as the last rogue mission he’d taken had ended with him losing Natasha, that wasn’t an option.

And besides, he was supposed to be dead.  And if he chose not to be dead, he’d regain his brand as a traitor to the United States of America.  Given the two choices, he’d rather be dead. 

 _Who the hell is Bucky?_ Those five words killed him coming from her mouth.  She’d driven a dagger into his heart.  Perhaps it was better to be dead.  Without her to save his life, he might as well be.

“Hey, kid.”  Bucky turned his head slightly to see Logan walk in.  “We need to talk.”

“I’m not in the mood, Logan,” Bucky said, gritting his teeth and turning back to the punching bag.

“It’s about Natalia,” Wolverine stated, his voice gruff.

Bucky sighed and turned to face him, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “I figured.  In which case, I’m _really_ not in the mood.”

Logan ignored him.  “I know someone who can—“

“Get out, Logan,” Bucky growled.  “Just leave.”  He paused, waiting for Logan to move.  He lowered his voice.  “Give me the chance.  I’m probably the only one on this goddamned base who can make you leave.”

“Only when you had the jump on me.”  Bucky scowled, his arms moving to his sides, ready to fight.  Wolverine held up his hands.  “Look, kid.  Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the only one who cared about her.”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you have any idea what she meant to me,” Bucky shouted, landing a hard punch on Logan’s jaw.  The sound of his metal arm making contact with Wolverine’s adamantium skull reverberated throughout the room.

Logan grunted, taking a step back from the force of the blow, his hand feeling his jaw as the welt instantly healed.  “Shouldn’t have done that, kid.”  Slowly, his claws slid out from between his knuckles.  Bucky tensed, ready for a faceoff with the Wolverine.

“That’s enough.”  Bucky spared a glance over Wolverine’s shoulder to see a man in a wheelchair enter the room.  “I did not come all this way for a sparring match, Logan.”

“This is more than a damn sparring match,” Bucky growled.

“I do not doubt your abilities, Mr. Barnes.  But as I said, I did not come to witness a fight,” he said patiently.  “My name is Professor Charles Xavier.”  The professor wheeled himself between Bucky and Logan, offering his hand.

Hesitantly, Bucky relaxed and shook it, only after acknowledging the fact that Logan also took the cue to stand down.  “Yeah.  I know who you are,” he said to Xavier.  “And I can guess why you’re here.”

The professor smiled sadly.  “And I am sorry we could not meet under better circumstances, Mr. Barnes.  But, yes, I am here to speak to you about Ms. Romanoff.”

Bucky scowled.  “Did Fury send you?  Or was all this his idea?” He nodded to Logan.  The professor raised an eyebrow but did not reply.  Bucky sighed.  “Look, it’s just what I told them.  She’s had her head messed with enough to last ten lifetimes.  Enough is enough.  Let her recover and she’ll be fine.”  _Without me._

Xavier folded his hands across his mouth and remained silent for a moment.  “Will she be fine, Mr. Barnes? Do you know that for sure?  After all, weren’t you the one who helped her reconcile her past before?” He paused.  “And did she not do the same for you?”

Bucky shot him a warning glance.  “Stay out of my head, Professor.  It’s not a nice place to be.”

The professor smiled.  “I am not in your head, Mr. Barnes.  I don’t need to read your mind when you wear your pain and emotions so plainly.”

He smirked for a moment and turned back to the punching bag, delivering two quick blows.  “Well,” Bucky said, catching the punching bag and steadying it.  “You’d be the first to say that.”  He hit the bag again.

“And,” Xavier said slowly, “As Ms. Romanoff begins to remember more and more, is it not logical to assume that she will have to reconcile her past a second time?  And how much more difficult would it be for her without her memories of you?  Or you by her side as she endures it again?”  He paused.  “Who’s to say she’s better off without you, Mr. Barnes?”

He froze and looked down, anguish washing over him.  “I don’t know.  Dammit, I don’t know!”  He punched the bag, sending it flying across the room, landing in a heap with the others.

“Look, kid,” Logan said, his voice gruff but not threatening.  “I know a thing or two about memories.  Living them is painful, but forgetting them is a hell of a lot worse.  And even if you don’t know they’re there, they still cause worlds of pain.”

Bucky sighed.  He knew that more than most.

“All I can offer, Mr. Barnes,” the professor continued, “is a chance.  Nothing more.  But if her memories of you are still with her, I may be able to recover them.  But it is your choice.”

What would she want?  He didn’t know.  She always knew what he was thinking, not the other way around.  But maybe Xavier was right.  She’d loved him once.  And maybe they were both better back then.  Bucky sighed.  “Alright.”

 

**Present Day**

 

“Now’s not a great time, Nat,” Bucky said into his com.  He ducked and rolled, dodging an array of bullets.

She ignored him.  There would never be a good time for what she had to say. “Where are you?” She made certain to control her voice, despite the panic rising inside her.

“Cuba.” He grunted as a soldier managed to land a punch to his gut.  But that was all he managed.  Bucky turned on him, his metal fist making contact with the soldier’s jaw. He crumpled to the ground unconscious but still more alive than dead.  “You?”

“Home.”  New York.  “And I need you here.  It’s urgent.”  Her voice wavered slightly.  At this point, it was far beyond urgent.

Bucky drew his gun from its holster and fired off a round, hitting his mark with each shot.  The Cubans dropped like flies.  They were well trained, sure.  But few could compare to his precision and expertise.  “Like I said, Nat.  Now’s not a great time.”  He ran to the control panel, his mind translating the Spanish in a split second.  “I’m on a mission.”

“For SHIELD?”

He smirked, knowing she couldn’t see him.  “Not exactly.”  He inserted a secure memory stick and began the download.  “It’s personal.” Unsanctioned.  But necessary.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “How soon can you be here?”

“Nat, I gotta do this,” Bucky said, pulling the jump drive out and wiping the system.  “It’s important.”

“James.”  All she said was his name, and her voice cracked. 

He froze, sensing her urgency.  Something was wrong.  Something was very, very wrong. “Right,” he said, his mind whirling to find a new plan.  “Give me five hours.”

“Four,” she countered.  “And don’t you dare be late.”

 

**Six Months Earlier**

**SHEILD Hospital**

       

He watched through the one-sided mirror as Professor Xavier entered Natasha’s room.  She’d been in the SHEILD hospital all week under observation, but Bucky hadn’t yet worked up the courage to visit her.  He couldn’t bear the thought of having to introduce himself, to see her look of confusion and lack of recognition.  It would kill him.

Bucky watched as the professor wheeled himself up to Natasha’s bedside, saying something quietly to her.  For a moment, she glared at him, eyeing him critically.  Xavier, to his credit, held her gaze and finished what he had to say.  Eventually, she nodded and Bucky let out a long breath of air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“So,” Fury said, coming to stand beside Bucky at the observation window.  “You decided to give the professor a shot.”  It wasn’t a question.

Bucky nodded and watched as Xavier placed his hands on Natasha’s temples.  “Figured if you went through the trouble of calling him in, we might as well give it a chance.”

Fury scoffed.  “I didn’t call him in.”  Bucky raised an eyebrow.  “Logan did.  But I told him he had to go through you.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bucky nodded.  “Thanks.”

“’Sides,” Fury continued.  “I didn’t want the blame if this don’t work.  Logan can heal.  I, on the other hand, might not fare as well.”

Bucky smirked sullenly.  Inside Natasha’s room, Xavier removed his hands from her face and opened his eyes.  Natasha’s head rolled back onto the pillow.  With a quick, nervous glance at Fury, Bucky walked around the corner and opened the door, hesitantly entering the room.

The professor turned to face him.  “How is she?” Bucky asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.

Xavier smiled.  “She is merely sleeping, Mr. Barnes.”  Inwardly, Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.  “As far as I can tell, I found her memories of you.  Buried, but still intact.”  The professor paused.  “However, the extent of her brainwashing is still unknown to me.  It is still unclear whether or not the memories will actually surface.  And if they do, what effect the brainwashing will have on them.”  Bucky’s heart sank.  Nonetheless, Xavier smiled encouragingly.  “It is my professional opinion, Mr. Barnes, that Ms. Romanoff will recover her memories.  Or at least, there is a good enough chance for hope.”

Bucky nodded, his face blank.  “But she’s alright?”

"Yes, Mr. Barnes, she will be fine.”  He paused.  “And, given time, I believe her memories of you will return.”  The professor maneuvered his wheel chair to the door.  “There is cause to hope, Mr. Barnes.”

The professor left the room, ensuring that the door closed behind him.  Bucky looked at the one-sided mirror, his reflection staring back at him, knowing Fury was on the other side watching.  Shaking his head, Bucky approached Natasha’s bed, sitting in a chair next to it.  He placed his arms on the bed, leaning his head against them, studying her features.  Gently, so as not to disturb her peaceful sleep, he reached up to brush her hair out of her face.  Bucky took her hand, entwining her lithe, delicate fingers with his icy, metal ones.  He kissed her hand, holding it against his lips.

She might remember him.  A cause for hope, Xavier said.  But then again, she might not.  Bucky knew from experience that the Soviets excelled at brainwashing.  It couldn’t be that simple.  Novokov knew him and of his association with SHEILD.  Surely he would have taken preventative measures.  Nothing is ever that simple.  And, if he was honest, that’s what terrified Bucky the most.  That by messing with Natasha’s mid, he might inadvertently be unlocking another layer of programming. 

Inwardly, he cringed.  He detested thinking of her as programmed, as if she were nothing more than a damn LMD.  Most of all, though, he hated Novokov for making her this way.  For taking her from him.  He couldn’t bear the thought of Natasha as a puppet.  She’d had enough of that to last ten lifetimes.  They both had.  And if she awoke and attacked him because of some leftover programming, he didn’t know if he had the willpower left to fight her.  It would break him.

And yet, the professor had said there was hope.  Bucky had never been a firm believer in hope.  Maybe once—a long, long time ago—when Captain America was a man and a symbol worth the sacrifice.  But since then, his life and limb—both of them quite literally—had been torn from him time and time again.  There had not been much cause for hope in a country whose hearts were colder than their eternal winters and the only fires that ever burned were those of ambition and hatred.  There had been no cause to hope when they’d taken his name and made him into a monster, his only lasting achievement the gushing blood on his metal arm.  There had never been cause for hope.

Until she gave him one.  She’d given him a cause to live with her beauty, her grace, her ferocity and her fearlessness. He had never known another like her.  And, in all his life, Bucky knew he had never loved as fiercely.  They had saved each other, time and again.  And they’d lived through everything—the fall of empires and the broken shards of their memories.  They spoke each other’s language, and despite everything—the blood, the lies, and the shattered memories—they always found each other.  Fate had dealt its cruel hand time and again, but nonetheless, they had managed to stand against it.

And perhaps they could again.  One more cause to hope.  If she’d merely remember, they’d have crushed the hand of fate again.  They made their own destinies.  Neither of them would be controlled any longer—not by the hand of God or by a dying regime.  Those days were over.

If only she’d remember.

Bucky sighed, leaning back and pulling his hand away from Natasha.  He watched her for a second more before he stood, turning towards the door.  Without warning, her hand shot out, grasping his cool, metal wrist.  Bucky turned back to face her, his eyes wide.  Natasha blinked slowly, her eyes focusing on him.  Without a word, Bucky sank back into the chair, his hand never leaving hers, searching her eyes desperately for some sign of recognition.

Natasha turned her head to look at him.  She smiled softly, her hand leaving his to touch the stubble on his cheek.  “Hey,” she whispered.  Bucky held her gaze, not daring to look away.  “I know your face.”  She spoke soft, delicate Russian, her words echoing in his mind a thousand times over before they registered.  “James,” she said firmly, as if to convince herself.

Bucky nodded slowly, not daring to speak.  He acknowledged the fact that there was a good shot that he was daydreaming.  Or that somehow Novokov must have programmed a failsafe in case she began to remember.  She could still be brainwashed.  But he could not deny his rising hope.  She was remembering.  To be sure, because Bucky was always cautious when it came to hope, he said, “Warsaw.  1962.”

Natasha nodded, understanding.  She always understood his caution.  He learned from his mistakes.  “Neither of us were in Warsaw in 1962,” she replied softly, her hand moving to rest on his arm.  “It was 1963.”  Bucky nodded.  He’d known that.  It was not a date he was likely to forget.  “It was Christmas,” she continued, her eyes locked with his.  “And you weren’t supposed to be there.   You were supposed to be in America cleaning up after JFK was shot.  But you followed me to Warsaw instead.  You said you were observing me on my mission.  And I believed you.  I had my target in sight, but you took the shot first.”  She scoffed slightly.  “I was so upset, I turned on you.  And you shoved me against a wall and held me there.”

He nodded, the memory replaying in his mind.  “Do you remember what I told you?”

“You said that my target had been innocent,” she replied softly.  “And I knew he was.  You said that you took the shot to save me from that guilt and the punishment I would receive if he escaped.  You said that someday, I’d feel remorse for every life I’d taken and that this would be one less I had to worry about.”  Bucky watched her eyes fill with tears.  “That was the first time I ever remembered that I was a human being, James.  And you kissed me and I felt alive.  Afterwards, you just held me.  I’d never felt that safe before.”  She searched his eyes for some kind of reaction.  “James, I—“

“Shut up, Nat,” he said, cutting her off and pulling her to him, kissing her desperately.  This time, hope had won.

 

**New York City**

**Present Day**

 

It was past midnight when Bucky finally opened the door to their apartment.  The city, of course, never slept.  And apparently, neither did Natasha.  She was pacing the living room, wearing only his shirt, her flaming hair tied up and her arms crossed over her chest.  She looked scared and he concluded in an instant that it definitely did not suit her.  No.  Natasha Romanoff was fearless.

He closed the door behind him without making a sound.  “What’s up?” he asked softly.  She looked up at him, biting her thumb.  Instead of replying, she walked into his arms.  He smelled of sweat and he probably needed a shower, but she didn’t care. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.  He felt her trembling.  Concerned, he pulled back, trying to meet her eyes.  “Nat, what’s wrong?”

She looked down and shook her head, opening and closing her mouth, unable to say anything.  Gritting her teeth together in frustration, she pressed something into the palm of his hand.

He glanced at it and looked back up at her, his eyes wide.  “Nat, you’re—“

“Yeah,” she said finally, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I’m pregnant.”  He looked at her, unable to say anything.  “I was late,” she said nodding, not meeting his eyes and trying desperately to control her voice.  “And this morning, after I worked out, I threw up for about an hour.  So I…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured to the pregnancy test in his hand.

Bucky smiled slightly before his face fell.  He wanted to be happy.  He wanted to swoop her up in his arms and laugh with joy.  But with them, it was never that simple.  “I thought that was impossible,” he whispered, keeping his voice low.

She nodded a tear running down her cheek.  “It is,” Natasha said, her voice rising.  She threw her hand up in the air in frustration.  She drew in a sharp breath.  “It is.”  She paused, taking a step back from him.  “The Red Room wanted weapons, not mothers.”  Natasha turned, and sank down onto the couch, placing her elbows on her knees, leaning forward, the tears running down her cheeks.  “The chances of miscarriage are about one hundred percent.”

Bucky placed his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them, and walked over to her, standing in front of her.  For a moment, he watched her cry, with no clue as to what he was supposed to do.  Every word she said was a dagger to his heart.  Physical pain was one thing.  But seeing Natasha suffer was a whole different level of excruciating.

Eventually, she glanced up at him and gestured to the spot beside her.  Without a word, Bucky sat and she leaned her head against his chest, his arms wrapping around her.  “I have decided,” she whispered into his shirt, “that I am tired of being a weapon.” 

He nodded slowly, kissing the top of her head.  “Then here’s what we do,” he whispered softly, moving her face so that she looked at him.  “We redefine what’s possible.”  Bucky looked into her eyes, ensuring that she knew how serious he was.  “We’ve done it before.  And we’ll do it again, Nat.”  Her eyes glistened with tears.  “Cross my heart.”

Slowly, Natasha nodded, drawing an X over his heart.


End file.
